


Turned Tables

by IsobelSionisFalcone



Series: Pickman Tales [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Chocolate, F/M, Oral Sex, Painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 21:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12826455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsobelSionisFalcone/pseuds/IsobelSionisFalcone
Summary: Nora decides it's time to get creative.





	Turned Tables

**Author's Note:**

> More Pickman fic because I love this guy!

Safe, peaceful sleep has become something of a luxury over Pickman's lifetime. They object to his hobby of collecting their heads, so they hunt him down to exact their revenge. Those attempts have not been successful, thus far, partly thanks to his Killer. Not His Killer. He isn't dead, of course, otherwise he couldn't devote the remainder of his existence to worshipping such terrible, destructive beauty.

Nora's installed numerous complicated traps around the gallery to ensure they aren't caught out by raiders and there's one she designed as a gift for him, she said, for accepting her into the bedclothes. A machete hooked up to a tripwire at neck height will slice the head of its victim clean off. He likes that. He takes pleasure from watching her, painting her likeness in blood and drawing her pre-war body into his arms at night.

Pickman doesn't paint her portrait. He depicts her as he sees her; a Deathclaw running wild and free, a Radstag-doe spearing hunters with its antlers, a dancer with a knife and white dress stained red.

Suddenly, he notices he's a little chilly. He can't feel Killer's body heat. He tries to move, to rise to search for her, but he can't move his arms. As sleep drifts away and he becomes conscious of the mattress beneath him, the serial killer realises his hands are cuffed to the headboard. Momentarily, he panics just a little until he realises that he's still in his bed, in the same room, in the same gallery. Pickman stops panicking then; this is one of Killer's games. She's been promising him a surprise for a little while now, so it appears she's turned the tables on him.

"Wakey, wakey, Pickman," a soft, feminine voice purrs in his ear. He smiles broadly, keeping his eyes closed and absorbing her smell, her taste as she kisses him softly.

"This is a most pleasant turn of events, Killer," he murmurs against her lips before she draws back.

He lifts his eyelids and gazes at her as she moves towards the dressing table. She's opted for an interesting outfit; one of his shirts hangs loosely about her shoulders and hips, a few buttons done up over her breasts and, even though the material stops at her mid-thigh, a pair of black satiny knickers is visible through the gap where it's unfastened. He licks his lips, hoping she'll allow him to taste her, later.

Pickman can smell something sweet, almost saccharin on the air and he can hear the dull humming of a hot plate. He's painfully curious because he can't see what she's doing, craning his neck as best he can while he's tied down to take a peek. After a little while, the humming stops as she switches the plate off and she turns to face him, a glass jar clasped in one delicate hand full of a thick, dark liquid, a fine-ended paintbrush in the other. Then he realises what the smell is.

Melted chocolate.

Oh. Oh, this is marvellous.

"You're full of surprises, Killer," he notes.

"I get that a lot," she states as-a-matter-of-factly, perching on the side of the mattress next to his bare hip. "Now, I'm going to bring my own artistic vision to life - on you, evidently - and then I'm going to lick it off. I need you to stay still. Can you do that for me, Pickman?"

He feels his cock twitch against his thigh. "Oh, yes, Killer."

"Good," she says. "Hold still. I need to finish before it hardens again."

Nora dips the brush into the chocolate and begins at his neck, tracing the underside of his collarbone and he nearly twitches. The trail of sticky brown meets at the centre of his chest and from there, she makes curling, winding patterns all over his pectoral muscles, circling the brush around his nipple until he gasps. Nora smirks and paints a swirl towards the centre of each nipple and and Pickman sighs in bliss, goosebumps erupting across his arms.

"Killer..." he breathes, eyes closed as he strains against his bonds.

She continues the pleasurable torture, her hand moving back and forth between his body and the glass jar, painting lines, squiggles and shapes over his abdomen. He tenses as the brush tickles the sensitive skin and yet more goosebumps skitter across his torso, but she continues regardless, outlining lean muscles with her brush. Pickman's cock is half hard by now, but Killer is focused on her work, eyes sharp as they follow the trails of chocolate. She's just as beautiful like this as she is beneath him, her body as delicate as her touch, although he knows she's far stronger than she looks.

Nora smirks as she strokes the bristles over his hip and he squirms, drawing hearts around the bone before dipping lower to his groin. Pickman jolts and she scolds him, dipping her brush into the cooling chocolate once more. He shudders and lets a whispery groan slip past his lips as she paints more hearts on his balls. He swallows thickly, struggling to keep still as he utters her favoured nickname.

"Can't wait to suck this off you..." Nora murmurs, circling the base of his cock. His stomach tightens at the thought of her deepthroating him. He likes that.

It takes her barely a few minutes to paint a long, swirling trail of the thick liquid all the way to his tip, but it's no less than sweet, unbearable torture. Sweat beads on Pickman's upper lip and he's not going to last very long at this rate. His toes curl, body drawn tight like a stretched tendon, and he cries out when Nora strokes the bristles over his slit. He whimpers at the pleasure-pain, each touch setting his nerves alight. When she places the brush on the bedside table, he nearly moans in anticipation.

Nora stands back and licks her lips as she gazes at him. She looks hungry, predatory as her eyes glaze over a little. "Christ, you look good like this..." she says. "All tied up and covered in chocolate, just waiting for my tongue on your skin. Like a frigging Christmas present."

Pickman swallows, knowing she fully intends to lick up every last drop of the melted treat. Nora bends over him and begins to suck at where the trail starts, marking his collarbone and proceeds to lick a long stripe over his chest. She nips and sucks until above his pectoral muscles are lapped clean, moving down to curl her soft lips around each of his nipples in turn. His body arches up into her mouth as she swipes her tongue over the chocolate, suckling his skin and heat boils low in his gut.

Nora moves downward, licking with clinical precision. She leaves no drop behind, cleaning his pale skin and forming several love bites before she finally reaches his cock. The tip of her tongue flicks at his balls and a sound rises from the back of his throat, like a wounded animal, desperate and wanting. Nora responds by taking each one into her mouth in turn and sucking. Pickman's hips rise to get as close to her warm, skilled mouth as he can, tugging at the cuffs involuntarily - he can barely control himself, gasping as she strokes his thighs and finally curls those full lips around his cock.

Killer has always been good at this, tongueing his tip and applying pressure over the slit as her thumbs and fingers rub his tightening balls. He grits his teeth in an attempt to regain a little composure, but he fails, miserably, and gives a strangled moan as she nearly swallows him whole.

She can't deny that she's sadistic. Nora loves seeing him like this, begging and completely at her mercy. She'd have used blood, admittedly, but Pickman won't allow her to tear her own skin, to spill her blood. He tells her that she is art and to sully her would be no less than horrific. Raider blood is full of impurities, so although she'd gladly lick it from his body, there isn't really a way she can do it without killing herself in the process. Still, chocolate tastes nice, she supposes...

After he whines her name once more, Nora can tell he's close. She sucks him like it's the most important thing in the world and right now, it is. She could say that she loves him, but that's too clichéd. It doesn't explain how much she adores him because in a place where everyone else thinks he's a madman, he's the only one who understands her. Pickman treats her with all the tenderness of a little field mouse, despite his lopping off the heads of his victims. To feel that she matters, that he will gladly spend every waking moment in her presence and be as gentle with her as Nate was is more than comforting. It makes her feel alive and important.

She continues to bob her head, using her hands to stroke where she can't reach and, after barely half a minute, Pickman quivers and his entire body tenses up as he gives a long groan. Nora takes him as deeply as she can and his warm seed splashes at the back of her throat. She takes it all, ensuring she swallows every last drop before she withdraws and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand.

When Pickman recovers and he's able to think clearly once more, his bright blue eyes meet hers and he smirks. "I must admit, I quite like being the mouse. You play the part of the cat quite well, Killer."

Nora chuckles and crawls upwards, the hem of shirt tickling his abdomen. "Plenty more where that came from, Pickman," she purrs, straddling his shoulders and holding her knickers to the side.

He's going to enjoy this.


End file.
